A Cosmic Attraction
by LittleFishGirl1103
Summary: Ginger's used to being the girl that everyone wants. She gets to experience the other side of the fence when she realizes her feelings for the Professor.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my story. If you like it, leave some feedback - I'm always looking to improve my writing. Previously called The Journal, because I was too tired and lazy to give it a decent title until now haha... **

**Update: So I was gonna just leave it as a one-shot, but I don't want to leave you guys hanging, so I'll continue with it. I hope y'all like it. Thanks.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. :D**

Ginger couldn't understand it.

_She_ was the one all the boys wanted in school.

_She_ was the object of every man's desire and every woman's envy.

So Ginger was shocked when she began feeling the first twinges of desire work its way inside of her. She remembered that night well.

* * *

**Several Months Earlier**

_Ginger was watching the moon glitter over the dark water when she heard loud rustling behind her. She turned to see who was coming through the trees._

"_Oh, it's just you Professor," she said, hand over her heart. "You startled me."_

"_I'm sorry Ginger, I didn't mean to frighten you," the Professor replied. "I didn't realize anyone was here. What brings you out here so late?"_

"_I'm just watching for any boats that might be around," Ginger answered nonchalantly._

_Although she __**did**__ keep an eye out for any vessels that could possibly pass by, she had really been writing in the journal she kept with her. She wasn't much of an outdoors kind of girl, but Ginger was always inspired by things like the moon and other aspects of nature. Ginger felt like writing in a journal about things that inspired her would keep her passionate as an actress. She also wrote simply because enjoyed it._

_Very few people in her life knew that she liked to read and write. Most assumed she was just vain and simpleminded. Ok, so she was the tiniest bit vain. Other women would be too, if they were as **stunning** as she was. But she wasn't simpleminded at all. Ginger knew what people thought of her and she didn't mind. She was confident enough in herself to know that what they thought didn't matter._

_She tucked her journal out of sight and looked up at the Professor who had come up to where she was sitting. "You're right – it __**is**__ awfully late Professor. What are you doing out here?"_

_He gave her an excited grin. "I'm glad you asked – come with me."_

_Ginger got up from her spot on the powdery sand and followed the Professor a bit further down the beach. They walked in silence for several minutes before she suddenly squinted her eyes to see further in the dark._

"_Professor – what is that? The sand is glowing!"_

"_Right you are Ginger! Those are bioluminescent phytoplankton," he said, sounding like a giddy schoolboy. "Come on!"_

_Ginger hurried to keep up with the Professor who had begun to jog through the sand. She had never seen anything so strange in her life. The creatures on the sand gave off a blue-green glow. She thought the glow gave the beach a dreamlike appearance._

_Ginger was half walking, half jogging to keep up with the Professor when a wave crashed into her feet, causing her to stumble. The Professor heard her surprised cry and ran back to help her._

"_**My**, the water sure is rough tonight," she exclaimed, lifting the hem of her dress to keep it from getting wet._

_The Professor held her arm as she regained her balance. "It's a full moon Ginger – the gravitational pull of the moon makes the water rougher. The tide gets higher and the waves get bigger." _

_The pair began to walk again towards the area with the blue glow._

"_What about the sun," Ginger asked. "Does it affect the water too?"_

"_It does, but not as strongly since it's further away," the Professor explained. "Here we are… now isn't nature just fascinating?"_

"_I have to say, I don't know much about it, but it **is** rather interesting Professor." _

_Ginger and the Professor walked around for several minutes, discussing science and nature when they heard someone yell from behind them._

"_Hey, Professor! Ginger!"_

_Ginger and the Professor turned to see Gilligan and the rest of the castaways coming towards them._

"_Excellent – you're all right on time," the Professor crowed. He ran over to the group and began talking with them and teaching them about the phytoplankton on the ground._

_Ginger casually strolled back towards everyone else. She enjoyed watching everyone smile and laugh. She giggled as she watched them chase each other around and play like children. Well actually, they chased **Gilligan** around as he played like a child. They had become like family to her and she had grown to love them._

* * *

**Present day**

Ginger knew that was the night she began to see the Professor in a different light. She wondered if it was because she hadn't ever seen him so relaxed before. He was always so serious. All he ever did was read and build things using the bamboo and coconuts from around the island. She was never one for the nerds in school, but she suddenly found his intelligence extremely alluring.

She didn't join in with the group. Ginger was content to sit on the sidelines and watch her new family. She tried to listen in on what everyone was talking about, but instead she found herself just watching the Professor interact with everyone.

He had beautiful blue eyes, a smile that came easily, sandy hair that was begging to have fingers run through it, and a killer body underneath the boring khakis and button up shirt. But Ginger worked in Hollywood - she knew dozens of men with similar features.

At first, she couldn't understand what it was about him she found so fascinating. Then one day it hit her - underneath 'The Professor,' was a _very_ rugged man.

She began to notice things like his jawline and strong chin. She also learned that she loved his hands, which were large and calloused. She imagined that they were strong, but could be gentle as well. Ginger caught herself eyeing his arms whenever he would be building something. She could almost see the muscles straining underneath his shirt. There was something very primal about watching a man - who she never really saw as a _man's man_ - doing manly things.

He was a learned man, but not soft, unlike other educated men she had met.

In the end, her favorite thing about him was his voice. It was a deep, rich baritone that went right through her every time he spoke.

But it wasn't _just _his looks that she was so taken with. He was a kind man and very patient – especially with Gilligan. He was still serious, but Ginger knew he could be sweet as well. The Professor was very considerate of the people around him. She was also sure he had a sense of humor somewhere in him.

Ginger found him to be an enigma. Brains _and_ brawn. Strength _and _tenderness.

Every time she thought about him, she would get a strange twisting sensation deep in her stomach. Ginger tried her hardest to ignore it. It distressed her greatly to finally come to terms with the fact that she _might_ be in love with the man. It took her quite awhile to address her physical reaction every time she saw the Professor and to even look at the possibility of having feelings more than just mere curiosity.

_'I like him fine - **everyone **likes that man.' _She also tried hard to ignore the fact that she couldn't even address him as 'Professor' in her own thoughts without feeling like her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

Ginger noticed one day while putting on her makeup that her pupils would dilate every time she thought about the Professor. She threw down her mascara in irritation and walked away from her mirror, willing herself not to think of him.

_'Ginger Grant **does not** fall in love. Men come to **me**. They fall in love with **me**.' _She repeated this in the mirror every day for almost three months until she realized she could deny it no longer.

She sat down in front of her mirror dejectedly one morning after several sleepless nights.

_'The impossible has happened,'_ she thought, almost mournfully as she brushed out her copper hair. _'Ginger Grant... has... fallen in love. With a **teacher** no less!' _

Ginger never planned to be in love. It wasn't part of her plan - she was faithfully married to her career as an actress. Or, she _w__as_ until she became shipwrecked on the island.

She eventually came around to the fact that she was painfully in love with the Professor. She had never felt so deeply for anyone before - herself included.

Ginger admitted to herself that she wanted to be with him and decided to try as hard as she could to win the Professor's affections, despite the fact that she had never attempted to woo someone before. Ginger was unsure of what to do, so after careful deliberation, she came up with a plan.

Her first course of action was to pull him in with her looks. It was something she knew she could fall back on.

_'No man with a pulse could resist me looking like this,'_ she thought as she smoothed down the white gown she had put on one day.

She seldom wore it, but it was one that fit her like a glove while still leaving plenty to the imagination. Plainly put, she was absolutely ravishing in that gown.

She sauntered out of her hut in the dress and joined the group. Gilligan's eyeballs looked like they were ready to roll right out of his head. The Skipper and Mr. Howell tried to be a little more discreet in their ogling but they were also mesmerized by the curves of her body. Actually, Mr. Howell tried to be a little more discreet - Mrs. Howell was bound to be close by - but the Skipper just let his eyes roam everywhere, mouth agape.

Ginger was right. No man with a pulse could look away while she was in the gown - _except_ the Professor.

He walked by, attention sucked into a set of blueprints to one thing or another. Eventually, he looked up at her, said hello, and kept going.

Ginger stormed back into her hut and promptly tore the gown off.

_'He didn't even notice,' _she thought, trying to be upset and only feeling shunned.

She put on the dress she normally wore and sat on her cot. Ginger had to think things through. Apparently the Professor wasn't so interested in beauty.

_'Well, what did you expect,'_ she asked herself in a chiding tone. '_The Professor surely isn't so shallow. Maybe__ I should just try talking with him. Yes, I think I'll try that!'_

Ginger began to spend most of her time with him. She talked with him about anything and everything in an attempt to become close with him. She dropped hints which got less subtle with time. The other castaways began to notice.

Phrases like, 'Maybe I can come with you,' and 'You're so smart, Professor,' said in a sultry tone were said so often that Ginger became thoroughly tired of speaking that way. It wasn't normal for her. It wasn't normal, period. Ginger began to think she sounded stupid. Gilligan commented once, saying she sounded like she was out of breath. Ginger ignored that.

She grew weary of trying to get his attention but she pressed on. Unfortunately, nothing worked.

She couldn't understand it.

Ginger had to beat most men away with a stick, and yet the Professor didn't seem to realize she was a woman. He didn't seem to notice much when it came to women.

After awhile, she gave up.

She came to the conclusion that her love for him would be an unrequited one. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Ginger accepted the fact that he would never realize her affections for him - and if he did, he probably wouldn't return them anyway.

'_Why can't he see me? I'm right **here**... __I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Oh well,'_ Ginger thought sadly. '_I still have my dreams at least. I can see him there, and he'll notice me.'_

She got up and walked slowly back to her hut, lost in thought. She didn't realize her journal had fallen out of the bag she carried it in.

* * *

**Two hours later**

The Professor and the Skipper were on their way back to their huts. They had just finished gathering firewood and left Gilligan to guard the bonfire in hopes that they would be rescued. The men were walking and casually talking about what they planned to do when they left the island when the Skipper looked down at his feet.

"What's the matter Skipper," the Professor asked.

The Skipper didn't answer right away but bent down and picked up what appeared to be a small brown leather journal. "I wonder who this belongs to."

The journal looked very familiar to the Professor but he couldn't remember where he had seen it.

"Open it up," the Professor suggested. "Maybe there's a name inside. If it's someone we know we can return it to whoever dropped it."

The Skipper opened the journal and read it silently. "I don't see a name Professor," the Skipper said after a moment. "You read it. Maybe you can make more sense of it. I'm going back to camp."

The Skipper handed the journal over to the Professor before lumbering away. The Professor sat down on a nearby rock and began to read.

* * *

_You are the moon, and I am the sea_

_You attract me with your pull, I cannot resist you_

_When you disappear, I am flat and unmoving_

_When you appear again, you move me_

_I ebb and flow, my tides rise and fall as you come and go_

_You are my light in the darkest hours - __I need you, my light_

___I want you to see my waves as they reach out for you_

_You are so far away, but still I try to touch you_

_You are so distant, but I wish you could see me_

_So high and mighty, maybe you'll never notice the sea beneath you_

_But I am glad as long as my moon appears again, __I am content just to look at you_

_You are the moon, my moon_

_And even if you never know it, __I am the sea, __Your sea_

_Yours and yours alone. __I am here for my moon_

_Whenever you see fit to look my way_

* * *

The professor was very still after reading the poem. He _knew_ he recognized the leather journal. It was Ginger's private journal, and there was absolutely no doubt in his mind who she was referring to when she wrote about the moon. He immediately thought back to the night he showed everyone the bioluminescent phytoplankton, and the conversation he had with her about the tides.

He never realized that she…

He had no clue.

Absolutely none at all.

It was a long time before the Professor rejoined the group again.

He needed time to think.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary Anne walked into the hut she shared with Ginger and had to stifle a gasp. Their luggage was overturned, the blankets that normally stayed on their cots were lying on the ground, and there were clothes strewn everywhere. The place looked like a bomb had just gone off inside.

She heard a muffled voice. "…I don't understand… where is it? Where did I put it?"

"Ginger? Where are you?" Mary Ann scanned the room looking for her roommate.

After a moment she found her in the corner of the hut frantically ripping her way through a pile of clothes.

"Ginger! What are you doing? What's going on? This place is a disaster!"

The redheaded woman stopped what she was doing to look up at Mary Ann. "I'm looking for something," she answered tersely before resuming her search.

"Wait a minute, _wait a minute_ – what are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

"Oh Mary Ann," Ginger said despairingly. "I'm looking for a brown leather book. But I don't know if you'll be able to find it. I've looked _everywhere._"

Mary Ann started gingerly picking through a pile of things near their makeshift closet. "Well, what's in it that's so important?"

"Oh, nothing special really… Just some stuff, some memories of mine." Ginger answered very carefully, striving to sound nonchalant about the whole situation.

"Ginger, you've torn the hut apart searching for that book! Are you sure that's all," Mary Ann asked skeptically. "Maybe we should ask everyone else to help."

She didn't like the direction the conversation was heading towards. "No! No, that's ok, Mary Ann – you and I can find it ourselves. Just keep looking, will you? I'm gonna go outside and look. Maybe I dropped it out there."

Mary Ann gave up after about an hour or so. Ginger searched tirelessly for hours on end. She only stopped when the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon.

Later that evening, everyone gathered around the table for dinner. It was Mary Ann's night to cook. The rest of the castaways were talking, laughing and carrying on as usual, with the exception of the Professor who wasn't with the group. He had gone to the other side of the island in search of a special flower of some sort, for what, nobody really had a clue.

Mary Ann kept a close eye on Ginger the whole evening. She was usually quite the social butterfly, entertaining everyone with stories of one kind or another. But during dinner she didn't say much to anyone. Ginger absently picked at the vegetables on her plate all the while staring into space. After dinner Mary Ann set a coconut cream pie on the table for everyone to dig into. Ginger didn't even notice – and she loved her pie almost as much as Gilligan did.

* * *

_'I wonder what's in that book... I can't understand what would be so important about it that she would tear everything up to find it. I know she's probably so upset about not having it - she didn't even eat the pie!_

"My dear, are you alright?"

Mary Ann shook herself out of her reverie and looked up to see Mrs. Howell staring down at her with a concerned look on her face. One of the first things Mary Ann noticed was that the older woman was wearing a large beige sun hat - despite the fact that the sun had already set. She then realized she had been wiping the same spot over and over again and quickly took her hand off the table.

_'Pay attention,' _Mary Ann scolded herself silently. She knew she was spending far too much time wondering about Ginger and that book and promised herself she would stop thinking about it - even if she was dying to know what was in it.

"I'm ok Mrs. Howell," she replied with a smile. She hoped Mrs. Howell would go away. Mary Ann had some heavy thinking to do.

Mrs. Howell made herself comfortable on the bench on the opposite side of the table. "Are you sure? Is there something on your mind? You look rather troubled."

Mary Ann suppressed a sigh - so much for alone time. "I'm fine, but – well Ginger, she's the one who's got the problems."

She saw the gleam in Mrs. Howell's eye and instantly regretted saying anything. Ginger would be furious with her.

"What do you mean, problems? Is it something serious?"

'_Might as well tell her,'_ Mary Ann thought dismally after hesitating for a moment. _'Ginger can kill me later.'_

"Well Mrs. Howell, it started this morning – I went back to our hut and Ginger was searching for something – a brown leather book. She seemed awfully upset – she couldn't find it. I helped her look, but I couldn't find it either."

"What was in the book that was so important? Money, perhaps? A property deed? Darling, I would be upset too, if that was the case."

Mary Ann shook her head. "No, I don't think it was money or anything like that. She talked about the book having memories of hers in it."

"Hmm, I don't know. Perhaps I'll talk to my Thurston about it. I'm sure he can help us – he's very knowledgeable."

Mary Ann walked back to her hut after Mrs. Howell left. Unsurprisingly, Ginger was nowhere to be found. She was usually on the beach or at the lagoon, but Mary Ann was certain that tonight, she wasn't just out looking at the water or whatever it was she did out there. She was out looking for that book.

_'Gosh, I hate to see her like this. She shouldn't be alone - maybe I'll go and find her.'_

Mary Ann was getting ready to go out and find her, but something inside told her to leave Ginger be. She would come back when she was ready. She decided not to go looking for her, but she wasn't ready to just lie down and sleep either. Instead, she passed the time by reorganizing their hut.

* * *

Ginger stood at the edge of the lagoon staring at the clear water. Normally she loved the fragrance of the different types of tropical flowers that bloomed all around her and the sounds of the animals in the trees - it was all very romantic. But even they couldn't distract her from her dilemma.

'_Where did I leave it?'_

At first, Ginger wasn't so worried. Maybe she had left the journal somewhere in the hut. After awhile she began to feel anxious thinking about it. Eventually, that anxiety gave way to sheer panic.

She had racked her brain for hours and retraced her steps over and over again, but couldn't find anything. Ginger was ready to cry. That journal held all her private thoughts. If anyone were to ever find it… it anyone were to read it…

Ginger inhaled sharply as a sudden thought entered her mind. The other castaways. '_Oh no, what if one of them found it...?' _

She mentally ticked off the list of castaways on the island with her, wondering if one of them might have found it.

'_Let's see... Mary Ann certainly didn't see it... there's Gilligan, Skipper, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, the Professor …**the Professor**! Oh my God, I hope he didn't find it!'_

She paced back and forth trying to calm herself down. _'There's no way it could be the Professor – he would have returned it before he left for the other side of the island. He would have asked who the journal belonged to.'_

She began to breathe a little easier. She was sure it wasn't him. It couldn't be.

The contents of the journal were so private to Ginger that the thought of anyone reading them made her face burn with embarrassment. She wasn't ready to share her thoughts and feelings with the world, much less the Professor. She was careful not to write anything about him in her journal, but the poem...

_'I might as well have just announced it to the world,'_ Ginger thought, silently berating herself. _'I don't even know why I wrote that! He didn't notice me. So what? Women like you do not get all googly eyed over men like him. Oh, Ging... you've really done it now...'_

Ginger had it already set in her mind. As long as she had this infatuation to deal with, she would deal with it privately.

No one could ever know how she felt.

He could never know.

It would never come to anything anyway - they were too different. She would work her way though these feelings and overcome them once and for all.

She wouldn't be able to sleep until it was in her possession again.

* * *

The Professor didn't like lying. He preferred to deal with things out in the open. He told the other castaways that he had gone to the opposite side of the island to collect flower specimens to make medicine with.

Although he _technically_ didn't lie, he didn't tell the entire truth either. The Professor really _was_ gathering specimens. But, he also needed time to be alone to absorb and break down the information he discovered two nights ago.

So Ginger loved him. The Professor stopped and corrected himself - in the poem, she never explicitly stated the word _love_, but he was sure that she, at the very least, liked him.

He didn't understand. What did she see in him? He supposed he was handsome enough, but she was a Hollywood movie star. Handsome men were probably a dime a dozen in her world. Perhaps she liked his intellect. Or his personality.

But did he like her?

The Professor looked down at the loopy, feminine handwriting on the page he was reading.

_'She's a nice girl,'_ he conceded indifferently, after a moment's thought.

Unfortunately, he didn't know anything about her. He couldn't draw any conclusions about Ginger Grant. She was friendly, willing to help when someone needed it, but she also seemed a bit two-dimensional.

The Professor assumed that Ginger was one of those people - what you see is what you get. What else was there to know about her? Was there anything even under the surface? He didn't really think so.

But the poem she wrote blew that theory out of the water.

_'Shame on you, Roy Hinkley. That's what you get for assuming things,' _the Professor thought. _'A scientist never assumes anything. You know what they say about assumptions...'_

He was amazed at himself. The Professor had been stranded with her for quite a while and yet knew nothing of her personality, her likes, dislikes, or anything like that. He knew the other castaways very well. Why was she different?

The Professor was a man who loved problem solving. He loved finding answers to the unknown. And for him, women counted as the unknown.

The Professor came up with a plan. The first thing he would do though, is give Ginger her journal back.

_'If she wanted the contents of the journal to be known, she wouldn't have tried to hide it. Ginger's probably frantic looking for it. I shouldn't have taken it with me.'_

He wasn't sure why he took the journal with him instead of just giving it back. During his excursion, if he wasn't trying to find the flowers he needed, he was staring at the poem, reading it over and over again. She puzzled him. He didn't understand her at all. The Professor was a kind man. Growing up, he was taught to respect life. He was compassionate, gentle, and very patient. These traits all stem from love. He had love for people, but he knew nothing of true love between a man and a woman.

Maybe that was his problem. In his mind, he always coupled romantic love with lust - a very base urge.

He packed up his belongings and made his way back to camp.

* * *

Ginger woke up feeling pain everywhere. She had fallen asleep on the shore of the lagoon and, while the sand was soft, it couldn't compare to a mattress at The Ritz Carlton. Even her cot was luxurious in comparison.

She was disoriented for only a moment before the events of the last day and a half came back to her. Ginger felt like all her problems were once more heaped upon her shoulders and wanted to go back to sleep immediately.

She stretched, feeling her joints pop and creak, then got up and dusted the slightly damp sand off of her dress before walking back to camp.

She could smell the food the Skipper was cooking before she saw anyone. When she finally reached the huts, she saw a curious object on the log everyone normally sat on around the fire pit. Ginger walked up to the log for a closer look.

"My journal!"

Heart hammering with joy, she snatched it up and opened it for a moment as if the pages could reveal to her where it had been. She was so relieved that nobody found it. Ginger went to change her clothes, holding her journal close and smiling all the way back to her hut. She never stopped to wonder how it got there. She hadn't been anywhere near the log when she last had the journal.

The Professor watched her from the window of his hut. He gave the journal to the Skipper and told him to just leave it on the log - the owner would find it and claim it. The Skipper didn't really ask any questions - he just took the journal and tossed it on the log. The Skipper didn't have the time to think about it - he and Gilligan were still trying to patch that boat up. Ultimately, they knew it was a futile attempt - the boat was beyond repair, but they still insisted on trying. What else did they have to do that morning?

The Professor could have handed the journal to her himself, but he knew that would only embarrass her. And it would defeat the purpose of what he wanted to do.

Mr. Roy Hinkley, Ph.D, planned to use his scientific genius for research on women, and Ginger Grant specifically. It would be difficult, but he was up to the challenge.

_'I'll learn about her, find out what makes her tick. Then I can better draw a conclusion about her. It's always best to observe the subject while they are unaware. This way I can get a better sense of her, without any pretense.'_

The Professor ate the fruit on his plate, eager to begin preparing for his latest endeavor.

* * *

**A/N: Hi, I just wanted to thank you all again for continuing to read. Now, before anyone starts talking about the Professor's tone, I just want you guys to know that I'm going somewhere with this. So just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. :D**


	3. Chapter 3

The Professor had been studying Ginger for nearly a week and became increasingly frustrated as each day went by. He was getting nowhere. The Professor usually watched her from a distance as she went about her day, which included a daily routine that she rarely deviated from. It was the same thing, every single day. He had assumed that studying her like this would yield good results. The Professor had gotten the idea from a former colleague of his, a Ms. Goodall.

She was a young primatologist who was up and coming in her field. Ms. Goodall spent a great deal of time studying primates in their natural habitat. The Professor figured he could start from there and do the same. But it wasn't working. He felt more distant from her than ever before.

He looked up as Ginger emerged from her hut to get something to eat. He noticed, upon closer inspection that she seemed unlike her usual happy self. Perhaps it was time to take a different, more direct approach.

He was next to her in several long strides. "Hello Ginger. Are you well this morning?" He gave her a bright smile.

Ginger jumped – she wasn't expecting to see the Professor right behind her. "Oh hi Professor – I'm doing alright… just getting breakfast before laundry," Ginger responded, turning back to the table everyone sat at.

It was interesting to note a conflicting reaction from Ginger before she turned away. She sounded flat and low-spirited, yet her face turned a slight pink and her eyes widened ever so slightly. He even noticed a very faint flicker of her old spark in those eyes. The Professor made a mental note of that.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

He made it a point to move to Ginger's other side so that she was forced to look up at him. How curious. Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. Any other man would have thought it was becoming on her. But not Roy Hinkley, Jr. No, his thoughts never strayed in that direction at all. He was too busy trying to warm his subject up to him.

"N-no, Professor, you don't have to," she said, smiling tightly and waving her hand. "I know you're a busy man, and I have to get this laundry started soon. I'll talk to you later."

Ginger snatched up a banana and a mango and sped off towards her hut.

* * *

The Professor stood by himself in the common area of the camp scratching his head. Normally Ginger Grant was one who loved company. She was a social butterfly if ever there was one. She wasn't shy at all.

'_But she is enamored with you, Roy. Of course she's not going to feel the most comfortable around you.'_

The Professor decided he would make it a point to remedy that. If he was to study her, she would have to feel absolutely comfortable around him, since the Goodall Method wasn't doing the job.

The Professor walked back to his hut. He'd catch her one way or another.

* * *

Ginger dared a peek out her window. He was finally gone. She took a deep breath and let it out again.

'_In through the nose, out through the mouth.' _

She could scarcely breathe when he was so near her and even after she fled, she held her breath until he disappeared. She hated the thrill that went through her when she realized who was standing right behind her. Ginger suddenly found herself mad for seemingly no reason at all.

'_How dare he sneak up on me like that? I was in the middle of doing… stuff.'_

It was an irrational anger, but she could hardly help herself. Thinking about his twinkling eyes and the heat radiating off of him as he stood so close to her only made her even angrier. Ginger had planned to stay away from the Professor until she could control herself around him and rid herself of this silly infatuation. She couldn't do that if he was going to pop up unannounced all the time. But, the Professor wanted to eat with her…

'_It almost looked as if he wanted to talk and spend time… maybe become better acquainted…'_

No. Ginger shook her head. He didn't even see her in that way. Ginger Grant was _not_ a lovesick fool. Nor was she one to imagine things that didn't happen. And being friends wasn't possible. She felt too strongly for him.

If she was to cure herself and finally regain her confidence and control, she would have to do things differently. Cold turkey usually worked best, so she heard. After an hour or so, Ginger decided that she would spend her days away from the rest of the castaways. Away from him.

'_But only until these feelings go away. It's not forever.'_

* * *

"Hmm…"

Mr. Howell sat on a chair inside the hut he shared with Mrs. Howell. She had just finished telling him about the incident with Ginger and Mary Ann. It was interesting to say the least. He needed a moment to think about what Lovey had told him.

"Lovey… tell me again - what was it that Ginger lost," he asked, twirling his index and middle fingers, prompting a response.

"Mary Ann said she lost a brown leather book," she replied, sitting down in the nearest chair.

"Maybe there was money in it? Or perhaps the leather itself cost a fortune?"

"Mary Ann didn't mention any of that and she didn't think Ginger had any money in there. I would assume, had that been the issue, she would have been sure to mention it, don't you think?"

Mr. Howell nodded in agreement. "Quite right Lovey, quite right. All that hubbub for a book? And she didn't say what kind? What genre, who wrote it or anything?"

"No, my dear. Apparently she was rather secretive about the whole ordeal. I don't understand, Thurston. Why all the trouble for such a simple item?"

He and Mrs. Howell didn't have any children, but he had several sisters, some younger than him and some older. He came from a large family. Mrs. Howell knew he was great at reading people. It was just another part of him that she loved and admired.

What she didn't know however, was just how well he knew the female species in particular. He had a mother and several sisters. Learning to understand women kept things peaceful. He was also the only boy of the family, so it meant survival for him as well. That was something his father, Thurston Howell, II, bless his heart, had instilled in him.

_My son, it's not a normal thing for most men to talk or think about, but I believe it is essential for you to know this. It is known that women are thought of to be beneath men. I personally don't think like this, but most men do. But no matter what men think, women are still human, worthy of honor, love and respect. And one day you shall have one. Learn what a woman wants and needs. Take the time to understand her and you'll not have trouble, m'boy. _

His father was forward thinking for his time – most men thought it was strange. Thurston remembered that conversation too well. He was only 15 years old. But he remembered the advice and it served him well as an adult. It was part of why he and Lovey got along so well. They understood each other for the most part. Of course, like everyone else, they had their bumps, but it was rare.

Women placed importance on memories. They cherished and saved them, sometimes in a scrapbook, or a box, in the form of pictures and other mementos. Men also had cherished memories; maybe family pictures, inherited items from a deceased parent or grandparent, stuff from college, or even the war. It was a normal thing to do. But it was an intrinsically feminine pursuit. Memories were precious to a woman. They were highly personal and perhaps something less likely to be shared with other people, depending on what it was.

Mr. Howell also knew how people – and women in particular - were about losing those precious things. He'd witnessed it firsthand over the years with his own sisters when they would lose pins they had gotten from beaus, cards, dried and pressed flowers, etc etc. Ginger was no different than any of his sisters in that aspect.

Mr. Howell suddenly frowned. There was something he hadn't noticed before though…

All those memories his sisters had involved romance.

Mr. Howell looked up from his musings to find his wife's lovely, intelligent, wide blue eyes on him, waiting for an answer. "Well Thurston? What do you think?"

He shook his head slowly, all the pieces falling into place. It all made sense now. "Lovey, it's not a book she lost."

Mrs. Howell furrowed her brows, trying to understand where her husband was going with the information. "But that's what Mary Ann said Ginger said it was."

"Well _technically_ it could be called a book. But I like the term _journal_ or _diary_ better, myself."

"Oh my – Thurston, are you certain?"

"Very. Why, I'd even bet my Rolls on it."

"You're that certain? The Rolls is your baby!" Mrs. Howell gave Mr. Howell a surprised look at that.

Mr. Thurston just smiled back at her. "Lovey, that's how confident I feel about this."

Mrs. Howell stood back up and looked down at Mr. Howell. "So now what? It would be wrong of us to try and find it to see what's in it."

"We wouldn't be doing that, Lovey. Look, we've both noticed how _mopey_ and _sad _she's been lately. She's like a daughter to us, isn't she?"

Mrs. Howell nodded her head. Ginger was like a daughter. So was Mary Ann.

"Then we find out what exactly is bothering her. She's not herself and we can't have that."

"Thurston, you don't think it could just be her missing her old life? She was a glamorous movie star, after all."

"Lovey, we _all_ miss our old lives. I miss my other yachts, and going to the derby… Kentucky is very beautiful. Why, sometimes I even miss having Jeffries around. But that's not what's bothering her. It's not the fact that she lost the journal that bothers her most. It's the discovery of the content in the journal that has her in fear. I will bet you half the Howell fortune that it's something amorous in nature."

"Amorous…,' Mrs. Howell paused a moment. "You think she's in love with someone?"

"Maybe."

Mr. and Mrs. Howell sat silently then, each in their own thoughts. It was quiet for several moments before they heard a noise. It sounded like something fell near the window.

They both looked at the window. The green curtain looked like it was moving, but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Howell could tell if the movement was from the breeze or something else. He got up slowly and looked over at his wife, while putting a finger to his lips. Mr. Howell crept up to the curtain and waited a second before ripping it back.

"Oh – _for heaven's sake_ – Gilligan! Skipper! What are you two _doing behind that curtain_?!"

Mr. Howell took Gilligan by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out into the open. Skipper followed behind sheepishly.

"What on_ Earth_ are you two doing in here," Mrs. Howell asked.

"They were eavesdropping, that's what they were doing," Mr. Howell said loudly. "Now, I demand to know what you've heard."

"Well," Gilligan said, "Skipper and I were walking by and heard you talking about Ginger, so Skipper -,"

The Skipper gave Gilligan a look. Gilligan looked back at him guiltily.

"I mean, _I_ walked closer to your window," he continued. "We couldn't hear you so well, so we – I mean, I, snuck in so I could hear what you were saying. Skipper came to get me out and didn't want to get caught, so…" Gilligan trailed off.

Mr. Howell rubbed his eyes in irritation. "So you've heard everything then."

"Don't be too upset Mr. Howell," The Skipper said, sticking up for Gilligan. "We already _know_ something's going on with Ginger. We just wanted to see if _you_ had any clues as to what it could be."

"To think this whole thing is about a journal," Gilligan said, shaking his head. "I wonder what's in there. I think we should just ask Mary Ann."

"Ask me what?"

Everyone looked up to see Mary Ann standing in the doorway. Mr. Howell threw his hands up in the air while the Skipper threw his dark blue yacht cap on the ground and moved to wrap his large hands around Gilligan's scrawny neck.

"_What is this_ – everyone standing right outside our hut, listening in to our conversation?! Lovey is there no more _decency _in the world," Mr. Howell asked in aggravation.

"I'm sorry," Mary Ann said. "I was just on my way to get more fruit for lunch and I overheard my name. What's going on?"

The rest of the group got quiet for a moment before Mr. Howell spoke up. "We might as well tell you. We were talking about Ginger and her journal."

"Her journal," Mary Ann looked at Mr. Howell in confusion. "She lost a book, not a journal."

"Trust me, my dear, it was a journal," Mr. Howell responded heavily.

"How did you even…" Mary Ann looked at Mrs. Howell for a brief moment before it hit her. "Oh, _Mrs. Howell, you didn't -_,"

"I'm sorry my dear girl, but I said I would ask Thurston for his insight," Mrs. Howell explained.

Mary Ann walked in the hut and took a deep breath. "Ok, so now everyone knows."

"Should we tell the Professor," the Skipper asked. "He could help us with Ginger."

"No, no," Mary Ann said. "He's been conducting new experiments lately and hasn't had time to talk. Besides, I don't understand what you're trying to do."

"Well we -," the Skipper stopped for a second. "What _are_ we trying to accomplish?"

"Well… we're trying to find her journal so she won't be so upset anymore," Gilligan said with a smile.

"But she found it again," Mary Ann said.

"Then why is she still so upset," Gilligan asked.

That stopped Mary Ann in her tracks. "I don't know Gilligan."

"You live with her," the Skipper said. "Surely you have _some_ idea."

Mary Ann shrugged. "I don't have any clue. She's been very quiet lately. She doesn't want to talk so much."

Mr. Howell looked at the rest of the group. "I was just explaining to my dear wife that her journal more than likely has something in there she doesn't want anyone to see. Something about a certain someone. Something romantic, possibly."

"Maybe she had a boyfriend back in Hollywood," Mary Ann suggested. "Or maybe she fell in love with someone right before we all got shipwrecked."

"Unlikely," Mr. Howell countered, shaking his head. "We've been shipwrecked here a long time. We are talking about _now,_ as in _the present._ She is trying to keep that journal a secret. Mary Ann, did you even know she had a journal?"

"No, Mr. Howell."

"Exactly. We're close knit here. We know a lot about each other. And _nobody_ knew about that journal?"

"I don't understand what the big deal is," the Skipper said. "She's got a journal. So what?"

"Skipper, that's not a big deal. The point is what's inside." Mr. Howell sighed inwardly. He would have to spell it out to them. "Follow me on this everyone. Whatever is upsetting her has something to do with whatever she has written in the journal that she keeps hidden away. She would only have to hide it if it involved one of us. Had she been writing about a man she knew in Hollywood, why would it bother her if we knew? She's normally a very forthcoming girl."

Mr. Howell was met with blank stares from Gilligan and Skipper. They were seafaring men who didn't spend a lot of time around females, so he wasn't surprised. He knew Lovey understood, and Mary Ann… Mr. Howell looked over at her.

Understanding dawned in Mary Ann's dark eyes. "You're saying… Ginger is in love with one of the men here on the island?"

"That's precisely what I'm telling you," Mr. Howell said.

"But… you, Gilligan, Skipper and the Professor are the only men on the island."

"Yes we are, aren't we?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi everyone, I just wanted to say thank you very much for reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. **

* * *

_Day 8 – So far all remains the same. The subject has not deviated from the routine she has set for herself, aside from Thursdays, which is when she does her laundry. I had hoped to use this time to make some sort of a connection with her, but instead, I feel more distant than ever._

_I don't understand it at all – Jane studied her subjects the same way and got phenomenal results. In fact, her subjects flocked to her! It's almost like they __**wanted**__ to be studied. Mine flees whenever she seems me approaching._

_Day 14 – Something has changed. The subject has been disappearing for hours at a time for the last six days. I've recently discovered that she leaves very early in the morning, as soon as the sun is up, and only comes back at night, after everyone has gone to sleep._

_I can't believe __**nobody**__ has noticed this. I plan to follow her tomorrow. I'll make a trip out of it. But first, I need to visit Mary Ann. I feel really itchy. I think this palm tree I'm currently hiding behind is giving me hives._

_Day 16 – I learned that it wasn't the palm tree that gave me hives. It was the bush beside the palm tree. Gilligan and the Skipper got rid of the bush and Mary Ann helped me to make a salve that helped soothe my skin and get rid of the hives. They're gone now and I feel completely normal again. For today, I will rest. Tomorrow, I'll continue on._

* * *

The Professor had his backpack ready by sunrise. Ginger was going out of her way to avoid everyone it seemed; and him in particular. He zipped up his bag and left his hut just in time to see Ginger leave hers. She looked very different without her trademark gown and evening shoes on.

Ginger was wearing khaki hiking shorts, which looked an awful lot like a pair Gilligan owned but never wore, and an olive green, short sleeved shirt. She also had on hiking boots and thick grey socks that were visible above the boots.

He had no idea where she got the clothing. Now that he thought of it, the Professor didn't understand how the castaways had as many articles of clothing as they did. They were only going on a three hour trip!

Her hair, which was normally styled in a bouffant, was pulled back into a simple, but still elegant bun with her bangs held back by a folded handkerchief. The only thing Ginger carried with her was a very small khaki backpack.

The Professor watched as she crept in the woods and quickly followed her. At first the trail she took was familiar to the Professor – he had traveled it dozens of times, looking for one thing or another. Then she suddenly veered to the right and disappeared through the dense trees. The Professor had to run before he lost sight of Ginger completely. She moved fast.

As he made his way through the trees, he began to feel excited about the idea of going somewhere undiscovered. He thought he had the island completely mapped out. He tried not to daydream too much – it was hard to keep up with Ginger as it was. He only managed by following the sounds of rustling leaves. He also used the occasional glint of fiery hair as a guide.

The change in the atmosphere was perceptible. There was a thunderous noise that seemed to completely surround the area, and the air, which was always humid, was now downright wet. He finally broke free of the rainforest and surveyed his surroundings.

The deafening noise was coming from a waterfall in front of him. He looked up at it in amazement. He had been around the island several times and never once realized that there might be a waterfall nearby. It wasn't nearly as big as the ones in Hawaii, but it wasn't tiny either.

The Professor guessed it to tower maybe 50 feet or more above his head, and he wasn't even at ground level. He looked down and saw a clear lagoon, much larger than the one near the campsite that was turbulent from the sheer amount of water being dumped into it.

He took his eyes off the wall of water and saw Ginger walking away from the waterfall. The Professor walked quickly to follow her – he didn't want to lose her now. He wasn't sure he would be able to find his way back to camp without her.

Ginger walked up a trail only she could see and went up around the waterfall. It was a steep climb that had the Professor huffing and puffing for air. She walked up the hill which was peppered with palm trees and disappeared when she reached a plateau.

* * *

When the Professor finally reached the same plateau, his legs were sore and felt like jelly. He took off his light blue button down shirt, which was soaked in sweat. The white tank top he wore underneath it was also rather sweaty, but he left it on.

The Professor dragged his belongings behind a large palm tree and threw himself on the grass. Ginger was sitting out in the open with her back to him. He took the opportunity to dig his water bottle out of his back and suck the liquid in it down like a man dying of thirst.

'_How has she been able to make this walk every day,'_ he asked himself incredulously.

Ginger was known for her good looks, not her physical stamina. If he were honest, the Professor would have assumed she had none. She didn't look very strong and he didn't peg her as an outdoors type of gal.

After he caught his breath, the Professor braved a peek from behind his tree. What he saw amazed him more than the waterfall.

There were several large palm trees swaying in the clearing next to a wide river that fed the waterfall behind him. It was very windy where he was, which the Professor assumed was from the altitude of the clearing. He looked past the trees and saw Ginger sitting out in the open. Beyond her was the ocean. The Professor forgot himself momentarily and stepped out from behind the tree. He looked out at the ocean and realized he knew exactly where he was.

He was surveying the far side of the island, looking for a certain flower when he looked up and saw a part of the island he had never seen before. It jutted out from the rest of the land. The Professor thought he might have even seen water from where he was standing, but he couldn't tell if it was water or just light. Now he knew. It was the river he was seeing. He slowly backed away from Ginger. He was making his way back to the safety of his tree when he looked down.

Under his foot was a delicate pink flower with big, round petals on it. The Professor looked up and saw that the clearing Ginger was sitting in was full of flowers just like the one he stepped on, except they were many different colors. He quickly picked it up and darted back behind the tree. He wanted to take a closer look at the flower. He sat down with it and fished a book out of his bag.

* * *

**Flowers with Medicinal Properties, Vol. XXXVIII. Written by Dr. Maxwell Uppercrust, III.**

The Professor eagerly flipped through the book until he found what he was looking for.

'_Somnium Tropicus, known more widely as the Tropical Fancy, is a species of flower found in the South Pacific. It is extremely rare, native to only three known locations in the South Pacific. These flowers range in size from small to medium and vary in color. Their fragrance is a pleasant one, very sweet to the nose._

_The somnium tropicus looks very similar to begonia semperflorens, but one must not mistake the two. Both the begonia semperflorens and the somnium tropicus are highly useful for medicinal purposes, but the somnium tropicus is much more potent than the begonia semperflorens. It is a hardy flower, found to grow wildly in clear patches of land._

_Medicinal uses:_

_Pain killer, blood purifier, treats eruptions of the skin, treats inflammation, relieves cold and flu, relieves headaches, relieves menstrual cramping, stops menstrual bleeding, cough suppressant._

_Also useful for cooking, but in very small amounts. Will add sweetness to your food or drink._

_Beware ingesting the flower in excess:_

_Using the flower or its oils in excess can cause delusions and hallucinations. As with all things, use in moderation._

* * *

The Professor was thrilled. This was the flower he had been searching for! He had looked high and low, not knowing for sure whether or not it was even on the island, but here it was – he found it. This would help in so many ways. The Professor took out a clear bag and began picking the flowers around him. He put them gently in the bag until it was completely full. By the time he was done picking flowers, the sun was beginning to set.

He knew Ginger wouldn't leave for several hours yet, so he delicately put the flowers in his backpack, took out some fruit he had packed and settled back. He planned to relax and read until she was ready to leave. But first - another journal entry.

* * *

_Day 17 – Today has been the most exciting day. I followed the subject and she led me on a wild ride, I'll be the first one to admit. I discovered a waterfall – a waterfall! – not far from the campsite. I can't believe it was there this whole time and none of us knew it! She then led me to a clearing high above the waterfall._

_It's easily the most beautiful place I've ever seen. It's like something out of a dream. And I found the somnium tropicus up on this clearing! The Board of Botany would be so excited if they knew. It's such a rare flower. We've all heard of it, but none of us has ever seen one in person. But I can use them on the castaways. It would make our time here much easier I think._

_I have to say though – I feel bad. I didn't get to study her the way I had hoped. Perhaps I'll try again another day. The hike up here was rough. Who knew she was in such great shape? The subject put me to shame. I'll have to tighten up._

* * *

The Professor put his journal away and watched Ginger. Up here, away from everyone, and he suspected, away from him, she seemed at peace. She was currently writing in her journal, looking up at the stars that had just come out.

He looked up too and realized that he could see the Milky Way along with the stars. He could point out almost every constellation he knew. Roy Hinkley, Jr. stared up at the sky in silent reverence.

He was always so busy with everyday life, playing referee to the other castaways, building things, studying this or that, that he never had the time to just be. Looking up at the sky reminded him again of how small and insignificant he was.

He knew many men that believed science was the end all, be all. He never used to think so. The Professor never voiced his opinions on such matters, but he used to believe thinking in that way was dangerous. It left no room for growth or discovery. It took the wonder out of nature. It was being put in a box and being left in there to suffocate in your own theories.

As a younger man, he couldn't stand the thought of being stifled. But that's what happened as he got older. Now he was a 35 year old teacher, stuck on an island, and despite all the awards and degrees he had, still felt unfulfilled.

He was by no means a religious man. Religion to him was a set of man made rules. Things you could do, things you couldn't do. Can and can't. Do and don't. Where was the freedom? True spirituality was much deeper than just rules and decorum.

He always believed that there was something bigger than him out in the universe. But over the years, he lost sight of everything he was. He became just like the others. He lost sight of his convictions. But he was reminded of them tenfold as he looked up into the vast sky with its mysterious twinkling stars.

_'Balls of gas and plasma.'_

For the first time in a very long time, he too, felt at peace. He didn't even care if he only felt it in that moment. The fact that he could even feel that again let him know that all was not lost for him.

He felt happy.

He felt content.

He felt human.

He felt.

* * *

The Professor heard Ginger moving and looked back from behind his tree. He could tell that she was reluctant to leave her haven. He was reluctant as well.

He wished he could thank Ginger, but that would require telling her that he had been following her for several hours. And then he would eventually have to tell her that he had actually been watching her for several weeks. Actually, stalking is the term she would likely use. Either way, she wouldn't take it well.

'_But,' _he reminded himself. _'you can always come back.'_ And he would go back. The next chance he got, he would go back.

The Professor debated putting his blue shirt back on but decided against it. He would probably just get all sweaty again, so he put it in his bag, along with his other things and quietly followed her back down towards the waterfall.

He looked at the path ahead of him expecting it to be dark. He was surprised to discover that it was actually lit up quite well. He never realized just how many plants and animals on the island were bioluminescent.

'_It seems like the whole island glows.'_

The Professor was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't realize how fast he was moving. He had nearly caught up with Ginger and was only about ten feet behind her. He panicked a bit when he realized he was right behind her and looked around for a place to dart out of sight.

Unfortunately, there was none. Everything was right out in the open. He settled for being as quiet as possible and prayed that she wouldn't turn around. He was actually sweating at the thought of her discovering him.

Meanwhile, Ginger was so deep in her own thoughts that she didn't see the slippery patch of moss ahead of her and ended up slipping on it.

She cried out sharply and fell back. The Professor moved quickly, forgetting his earlier prayers. He caught her just before she hit the ground.

"Ginger – are you alright," the Professor asked worriedly.

"Yes, I'm ok… I think I'm ok," she answered shakily.

Her heart began to slow down before she realized that it was the _Professor_ who caught her.

A barrage of thoughts went through her mind.

'_We're alone.'_

'_I'm in his arms.'_

Her poor heart began to speed up.

'_How did he get here?'_

'_Oh God, __**where is his shirt**_**?**_'_

The Professor blushed. "I, uh – I can explain about the shirt -,"

"Did I say that out loud?" Ginger's already red face grew even hotter. She quickly disentangled herself from him."I'm sorry Professor; I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"Oh no, no," the Professor replied awkwardly. "It's quite alright. I had just gotten hot from our hike earlier and -,"

"I'm sorry, did you just say 'our hike'?"

The Professor slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel the sweat pour off his forehead.

He then opened his eyes again and looked at Ginger while he held his hands up in front of him, partially as a sign of peace and partially for the protection he might need in the not too distant future.

"Ginger, I can explain."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys, I just wanted to say thank you very much for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

Ginger narrowed her eyes at the Professor. "What are you doing here, Professor? Were you _following_ me?"

"_What?_ No, Ginger -," the Professor laughed nervously. He didn't realize that he could respond to sudden duress that way. "I was, uh…" He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, stalling for time.

He didn't want her to know what he was doing, but he didn't want to lie either. The Professor had never been at a loss for words before. It was very uncomfortable for him.

Ginger walked around him and looked up at the dark thundering waterfall. It was faintly lit up by the plants around them. He kept his back to her, embarrassed at being caught. The Professor didn't notice when she turned back around to look at him. Her sharp eyes caught the corner of the small journal sticking out of his backpack. She reached over and in a flash had it in her hands.

The Professor whipped around in time to see her take it from him. "Ginger," he said reproachfully. "Please return my journal to me. That's mine. You have no right to take it."

Ginger knew it was childish, but she didn't care. He wasn't giving her answers and Ginger knew that whatever answer he gave her would only be a half truth. He was usually a truthful man but she also knew he was hiding something from her. She could feel it. Not to mention he had a terrible poker face. He wouldn't be winning any acting awards anytime soon, no matter how handsome he was.

The Professor advanced on her, desperate to get the journal back. "Give it back to me. I need that."

The corners of Ginger's mouth curled up in a tiny smile of satisfaction. It was nice not to be the desperate one for a change. She held the journal up and away from him. She was determined to read it and would do whatever it took to keep it from him and would return it when she was good and ready. Ginger backed away from the Professor slowly, never taking her eyes off of him.

The normally calm and rational Professor could feel his temper building. That was something that didn't happen very often. But he didn't like being toyed with, and that's exactly what she was doing. He couldn't understand why. This was so unlike her. The lighting around them was dim, but the Professor was close enough to see the changes in her face. She looked… strangely triumphant. But she also looked angry. He had never paid any attention to her eyes before. He knew their color, but he never really looked into them.

The Professor looked deep into her eyes and saw by how they hardened for a millisecond, that she was ready to run. He lunged at her at the same moment she turned to dart away but she slipped through his fingers. Ginger ran through the dark forest, trying her hardest to shake him.

'_I have to know what's in that journal!'_

The air was hot and humid and Ginger was getting tired. She stopped abruptly and listened for the telltale rustling of leaves around her. It was quiet. Too quiet. She didn't see or hear anything but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end. Something was wrong. As quietly as she could manage, Ginger moved forward. She tried her hardest to control her breathing, which was wild and out of control. She walked about five more steps before she heard the sound of loud rustling nearby. Ginger froze in her tracks. It was coming from somewhere behind her.

She moved to start running again away from the noise – which she assumed was the Professor – and was suddenly tackled from behind. She fell down with a sharp cry.

"Gotcha," he exclaimed victoriously in her ear as he crushed her slim wrists. She was thrashing around and it was getting difficult to keep her under control and attempt to grab the journal.

The Professor was not a large man but he weighed quite a bit more than Ginger did, so she had a difficult time crawling out from under his weight. She managed it though, by twisting her wrists free first. When he reached down to grab her again, she kicked blindly at him and scrambled to her feet. She heard a muffled 'Oof!' behind her and stumbled away.

The Professor staggered to his feet, one hand on his side. Ginger had just aimed her size ten boot at his stomach and she didn't miss. Still, Roy Hinkley, Jr. always endured for what he wanted. And she had what he wanted in her hands. He tore after her and used all his strength to charge at Ginger. The Professor managed to wrap his arms around her waist and bring her down, like a ton of bricks.

The pair didn't realize that they were very close to yet another ravine on the island. They knew something was horribly wrong when they didn't just hit the ground. They were falling, rolling downwards. They tumbled around, bumping into who knew what, until they finally hit the hard earth with a painful thud.

The Professor groaned lightly, unable to move for a moment. He looked around but could see nothing but darkness. Eventually he heard Ginger whimper from pain. He slowly got up from the floor and felt around for her.

"Ginger? Ginger are you ok? Where are you," the Professor asking, crawling on all fours, one hand outstretched, feeling for her.

"I'm over here," Ginger answered weakly.

He had no idea where 'here' was, but he had to keep her talking so he could follow the sound of her voice. She sounded like she hurt herself.

He tried as hard as he could to keep his irritation at bay. He had _never _done anything as childish as chasing a woman around for a journal. He felt slightly ashamed of himself. This was highly irregular for him.

Ginger also should have known better. She was as much of an adult as he was. If she had behaved like an adult, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"Are you alright?"

She didn't answer and the Professor moved quicker. His hand reached something soft and warm. He felt around and realized it was Ginger. He had read enough anatomy books to have a pretty good idea of where his hand landed. He was 100% positive after he heard a surprised squeal and felt a sharp slap to the hand. He drew that hand back like it had been burned. The Professor was glad she couldn't see his face. He felt very warm suddenly.

"I'm sorry Ginger. Are you hurt at all?"

Ginger rubbed her head in the darkness. "I don't think I am. But I'll feel this in the morning." She didn't break anything, but she knew she would have ugly bruises on her head and otherwise flawless face.

The Professor fumbled around until he found his bag and he reached in it. He pulled out a book of matches and lit one. He looked around to get a sense of where they were. It looked like they were trapped in an old tiger pit, without the spikes. The Professor didn't see any way out.

"Ginger, it looks like we're stuck down here for now," the Professor said with an inward sigh.

She looked around and saw several sticks on the ground. "Professor, can we make a fire? I don't want to get cold. And it's dark down here."

He looked around the pit and saw that they had everything necessary to build a fire, including the space to do it. And who knows? Maybe someone would see the fire and come to investigate. The Professor had ginger light a new match while he quickly gathered up the wood in the pit. He piled all the sticks together and took the matches from her. After successfully making a small fire, they sat down, resigned to the fact that they were trapped for the night at least.

Ginger hoped that he would talk to her but instead he put his bag flat on the ground and used it as a pillow. She pushed down the rejection she suddenly felt.

"You should get some rest Ginger," the Professor said."Tomorrow we'll try to find a way out of here."

She also used her bag as a pillow and laid down on it. Ginger watched as the Professor drifted off into sleep before falling asleep herself.

She slept for a few hours before being woken up by the sounds of birds nearby. It wasn't a good sleep though. She felt sore and tired. She was also sure she had a huge knot on her forehead from being tackled to the ground. Ginger looked over at the Professor. He was still asleep and the fire was now nothing but ashes and embers.

She began to feel hunger pangs and wished that she was back at camp.

'_What was he doing following me,'_ Ginger wondered, frowning in concentration.

Suddenly she remembered the journal. She grinned to herself and crawled over near her bag where she had tucked his journal away. Ginger gave him one last glance before she began to read eagerly.

* * *

By the time the Professor woke up, the sun was fully up. Apparently he needed the sleep more than he realized. He sat up groggily and rubbed his eyes. They had to figure a way out of the pit. He looked around for Ginger and saw her sitting on the far side of the pit. She was crying and holding his journal.

Ginger looked up and realized that he was watching her. She sniffled and stood up with his journal in her hand.

"So, this is what you think of me," she asked in a voice clogged with tears. "You don't see me as anything but a _thing?_ Something you can study?"

The Professor stared up at her a moment before standing to his feet. "I told you to return the journal back to me," he said ruefully. "That was my personal property. But I didn't mean to hurt you."

Ginger shook her head. "You didn't even bother to use my _name._ I'm just your subject to dissect. I don't have any thoughts or feelings. I belong under a microscope right? I realize I'm not your precious Erika Tiffany Smith, but do I mean that little to you? After all we've gone through?"

He watched as her eyes watered up even more.

"And what's worse – you compare me to a chimp!" Ginger turned away from him for a moment to collect herself.

She had never felt so insulted before. She cried because it hurt that the man she loved didn't even love her back and now he saw her as nothing but a science experiment.

"You even used Jane Goodall's method of studying animals on me. _Me!_ A woman. A human being. And I _know_ who she is – I was once cast in a play as the Defender of the Chimpanzees, Ms. Jane Goodall. Professor, is this really what you think of me?" Ginger looked at him feeling completely heartbroken. "Well, is it?"

"Ginger, I don't think of you as an animal." He tread very carefully. He could see both anger and hurt shimmering in her eyes and at the moment, anger was outweighing the hurt. "I just… I suppose I wanted to get to know you better," he trailed off lamely. It sounded weak, even to him.

The Professor didn't know what else to say. What could he say? It was the truth. He didn't have any feelings for her beyond friendship and he didn't want to tell her that he knew how she felt. The Professor thought it best to keep that private. But her infatuation with him did intrigue him. It was a fascinating thing. He wanted to study her just to get to know her better but it backfired in the worst way.

The Professor stepped towards her. "I'm sorry for hurting you Ginger -,"

"- It's fine – don't worry about it." Ginger cut him off. "Let's just drop it and… find a way out of here." She turned her back to him and mopped up her tears with the sleeve of her shirt the best she could.

She felt so ugly and unwanted. Ginger just wanted to sink into a hole and never show her face again. Her love for the Professor was so strong – why couldn't he see it? Maybe there w_as_ something wrong with her.

The Professor let the conversation go and set to work finding a way out. He felt around the wall of the pit to see if he could find any grooves or indentations. After about an hour of careful examination, he felt something harder than dirt under his hand. The Professor brushed off the loose dirt on the wall aside and found a makeshift dirt ladder. It was made by digging holes into the earth and using those holes as footholds.

"Ginger – I think I found a way out," the Professor said.

She looked over at him quietly and moved closer. "What do we do to get out?"

"Well, if I can put my feet in these holes, I can use them as a ladder and climb out. Then you can do it and I'll help you."

Ginger looked apprehensively at the crumbling holes in the wall of the pit. "Ok Professor…"

"Alright, step back so you don't get hurt." The Professor put one leg into the second hole up from the ground and planted his hands against the wall. He then pushed up carefully and pulled his other leg up. The Professor managed to get it in the other foothold. He began to feel hope. Just as he was ready to move again, the dirt collapsed under his weight and he went tumbling back down into the pit.

Ginger was still hurt and very angry, but she couldn't stop herself from running to him. She dusted his clothes off and ran her slim fingers through his sandy hair, trying to get all the dirt out of it. "Oh Professor – are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" The sound of her own voice brought her back to reality.

'_Look at you, fawning over him like a lovesick fool – get a hold of yourself – you're Ginger Grant! Stop it!'_

She yanked her hands back and quickly stood up and away from him. She loathed the breathiness and concern in her voice. She was still mad at him. She didn't wa_nt_ to be worried about him.

"I'm ok Ginger." The Professor brushed himself off and stood back up. "Unfortunately that plan won't work anymore."

The makeshift ladder had been completely obliterated under the Professor's weight. Ginger looked at the wall and then back at the Professor who was sweating profusely from the effort it took to scale the wall.

The words tumbled out of her traitorous mouth before she could stop them. "Let me try."

The Professor looked at Ginger in surprise. "It could be dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."

"You give me a boost; I'll climb out and help you up." The damage was done. She truthfully didn't want to see him get hurt – she loved him enough that she would take his place, his injuries, upon herself. Ginger told herself that she was only helping him so she could get back to camp faster. She didn't care if it was a lie. She just couldn't face the truth at that moment.

"Are you sure," the Professor asked uncertainly.

"Very sure," Ginger replied. "You're too heavy for me to boost up. But you can carry me."

The Professor didn't say anything else. He just knelt down so she could climb up on his shoulders. Ginger hooked her legs on his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his head. She could feel his hands grip her legs and hips, trying to keep her steady. He very slowly stood up and stayed perfectly still. She could see the grass on the ground.

Ginger reached up and grabbed hold of a tree root. The Professor moved closer to the dirt wall so she could climb out. She tugged on the boat and managed to pull herself up and out of the pit.

"Ok! Now let me find something to pull you up with," Ginger cried out to him. She looked around on the forest floor and saw a stick that could be of some use to them. She ran back to the pit. "Here – grab hold of this."

The Professor grabbed onto the stick – which was really more like a thick tree branch – and climbed as Ginger pulled with all her might. She struggled with the branch and the Professor's weight, but she never let go. After so long, he was finally able to climb out of the pit. He rolled on the ground, breathing heavily.

Ginger sat on the ground and looked at her hands. They were covered in nasty looking splinters.

"Thank you Ginger," the Professor said after his breathing had returned to normal.

"You're welcome," she said.

She was very confused. Ginger loved him, but now she felt very angry with him. Could you be angry with someone you loved desperately? It wasn't even a normal anger. This was one that burned hot in her chest. He saw her as a think, an animal to be watched. She was also angry with herself. If she was so upset with him, why did she help him?

"Let's get back to camp," the Professor said. He wanted to talk to her about what happened earlier, but he knew she wouldn't talk with him. She was too angry with him, and rightly so.

* * *

"Skipperrrrrr!"

If Gilligan's cry could wake the dead, they would be up and ready to go.

"What _is_ it Gilligan," the Skipper asked, irritation thick in his voice. He had half a mind to throttle the boy and he'd only just woken up.

"Skipper, I went to go find the Professor this morning. I found this really nice shell and I figured he would tell me where on the island to find it and maybe what type it is. You see how smooth it is and how it swirls -,"

The Skipper ripped his yacht cap off, ready to bring it down over Gilligan's head. "What's the point Gilligan?"

"Well, when I went to the Professor's hut, he wasn't there. His bed wasn't slept in at all."

"So?"

"Mary Ann told me that Ginger's been missing all night too."

The Skipper fell silent at that. He looked up and realized that Gilligan's big mouth had drawn everyone out of their beds.

"I say, Lovey," Mr. Howell piped up from behind the Skipper," I'll bet that Ginger got the Professor to go off with her on some little adventure, eh…? Perhaps he's the one she's so enamored with." He gave the Skipper a sly smile.

"Do you really think so dear," Mrs. Howell asked enthusiastically. There was nothing she loved more than matchmaking. Except perhaps, her darling Thurston. And her diamond ring. And the mink stole. And her money, of course.

"Look," Mary Ann pointed excitedly.

Ginger and the Professor trudged back into camp, both tired and filthy. The castaways all ran up to them, bombarding them with questions.

"Are you guys alright?"

"Why are you so dirty?"

"Did you hit your head on something?"

"Where have you been all night?"

The Professor tiredly raised his hand for silence. "We got trapped in a pit, but thanks to Ginger, we were able to escape. I think you all should let her rest for now. I'm gonna do the same."

Everyone gave them room as both Ginger and the Professor walked to their respective huts. The Professor put his bag down and sat on his cot. Her words wouldn't stop ringing in his head. Did he see her as less than a woman? What did he value in a female companion? He never thought of having one. The Professor lay down and closed his eyes. He felt strange.

* * *

Ginger set her belongings down and immediately gathered up her bath stuff. She couldn't sleep covered in sweat and dirt. She waited until everyone was out of sight before sneaking out of the hut and down to the lagoon for a bath.

She stepped in the cool water after setting her clothes down and began to lather up. She had to admit that the soap the Professor made worked wonders. She scrubbed at her hair and face before she realized she had tears leaking from her eyes. She stopped scrubbing and just stared off in to the distance.

Ginger then shook her head and slammed her hands in the water over and over again. She felt a horrifying mixture or emotions well up in her. She felt angry, sad, humiliated and helpless all at once. She felt like a bull being led around by a ring through the nose.

'_He doesn't love me. I was just an experiment to pass the time. And it doesn't even matter what he does, I still love him. I don't want to, but I can't help it. I wish I could hate him, but I can't. I can't…'_

She stayed still awhile, watching her tears drop one by one in the lagoon.


	6. Chapter 6

The Professor squinted against the afternoon sun. He had spent two days in his hut creating an extract from the somnium tropicus and was finally finished. He had a beaker full of the extract in his hand and swirled it around, hearing the liquid slosh gently against the sides of the beaker.

He planned to present his findings to the Board of Botany when they finally got off the island. The Professor wanted to write a book about it. He would be the first to write a book about the somnium tropicus based on fact and not just theory.

He was excited to test it out on someone. He looked around the common area and was disappointed to find it deserted. There was usually someone nearby. He listened for the rustling of leaves or even talking from the other huts but there was no sound except for the wildlife in the trees.

'_Where is everyone,'_ he wondered. _'Perhaps they're down by the lagoon. I wonder which ailment I should try to cure first.'_ The Professor set his coconut beaker on the table and sat down. He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface, deep in thought.

He stopped drumming his fingers when a thought suddenly popped into his head. _'I got it – a headache! It's very easy to get one of those and I'm sure none of the others have a history of migraines or other serious health issues. I hope not anyway. But I think they would have mentioned it by now… This is perfect! Now… the only question is __**who**__ to use.'_

The Professor's eyes wandered absently around the common area as he thought about which castaway to use as a guinea pig. His eyes eventually fell on a decent sized stick that was lying at the edge of the dense forest, not ten feet away from him. He walked over to it and picked it up, feeling the weight of the stick in his hand. It wasn't overly heavy but he didn't think it would break on contact either.

'_It'll do,'_ he decided.

He wasn't concerned about breaking his volunteer's skull open. The Professor had good aim and a steady hand. And he would be gentle during the process.

'_Or at least as gentle as one could be while bashing a big stick over another person's head,'_ he thought dryly.

The Professor knew he either needed someone who already had a headache or at least someone who was willing to let him give them a headache. He decided not to worry too much about who it would be until he got to that bridge. The Professor was eager to get started. He took the stick and hurried down to the lagoon.

* * *

Mary Ann walked back to her hut from the beach. She was hungry and knew everyone else had to be as well. She didn't have much on her mind besides what to make for dinner as she sat down at the table.

'_Let's see… there's fish… bananas… coconuts, of course… pineapples… onions… mangoes… and… maybe that new fruit I saw today. I wish I knew what it was.' _Earlier in the day she spotted a group of trees with a strange round fruit on it. Its skin was green and bumpy. She picked several to take back and try. Mary Ann stood up to go inside her hut when she saw a round beaker sitting on the table.

She reached over and picked it up. Mary Ann opened up the lid and took a small sniff. She was pleasantly surprised – the liquid smelled sweet, almost like vanilla. She was thrilled. She had been asking the Professor for weeks to help her find something vanilla-like on the island.

Mary Ann promised everyone that she would make some kind of dessert if she had vanilla or something similar. She wondered for a moment why the Professor left it out on the table instead of handing it to her, but soon decided it didn't matter. She took the beaker with her, excited to start cooking.

Mary Ann took her time picking the best fruits she could find. She loved vanilla and had to have nothing but the best to cook with it. Soon she had her pots going and fruits all prepared. Mary Ann had a habit of cooking both dinner and dessert all at once.

It was something her aunt Martha used to do. She taught Mary Ann that it was important to have all the food cooked and ready to eat at the same time. _'Do the desserts ahead of time if you like, but never leave your guests waiting too long between courses.'_

'_Tonight's dessert is gonna be good,' _Mary Ann thought enthusiastically. She knew the Professor wouldn't let her down. He never did.

* * *

The Professor was delighted to see Gilligan and the Skipper at the lagoon. He looked closer and saw Mr. Howell come into view as well. This was excellent. He didn't want to use one of the ladies for his test.

"Hello everyone," the Professor said. He smiled very brightly at the men.

Gilligan looked up from the radio he was fiddling with and waved. "Hiya Professor."

The Skipper glanced up briefly. "Hi Professor," he said distractedly. He was waiting for Gilligan to get to their regular news station.

"And _where_ have you been these last few days," Mr. Howell asked. He tilted his white parasol back to get a better look at the Professor's face.

The Professor could hardly hold in his excitement as he began to speak. "I've been creating a medicine that would cure several ailments. This could be revolutionary. That's actually part of the reason I came down here. I needed one of you fine gentlemen to help me for a moment."

"You know, if that medicine is really as good as you say, you could get good money from it. I could even help you with that," Mr. Howell offered. His eyes shone at the prospect of making more money.

"We could start a company and sell your miracle tonic to the masses – for the right price, of course. Before long, the company will be big enough to have stocks and shareholders. We could even have spies from other companies try to steal the recipe! Then we could get listed on the New York Stock Exchange. Picture it – our company name under the Dow Jones, and then m'boy, and _then…_ we would really be raking the money in. I'm known as the Wizard of Wall Street. If you work your way up, perhaps -"

"- That sounds great Mr. Howell, but first things first," the Professor cut in. "I need a volunteer."

"What for," the Skipper asked. He eyed the Professor suspiciously. He learned the hard way during his time in the navy never to just volunteer for anything.

"I need someone to test the extract on," the Professor said carefully.

"You said it's medicine?"

"Right."

"What kind of medicine," Mr. Howell asked.

"It's a multi-purpose medicine," the Professor explained. "It can cure acne, a cold, headaches, most kinds of pain, simple things really. Perhaps even minor burns."

The Skipper was quiet for a moment before he caught sight of the stick resting against the Professor's leg. Suddenly the pieces all clicked together. He wanted to test the painkiller part.

"I would like to take this moment to volunteer Gilligan," he announced loudly.

Gilligan looked up from the radio. "Volunteer me for what," he asked.

"Well Gilligan, you're gonna take the Professor's medicine and we're gonna see what happens," the Skipper explained with a sugary smile.

Gilligan stood up quickly and backed away. He didn't trust that smile. "Skipper, why are you looking at me like that? And what do you mean, 'cure me'? Cure me of what?" He looked from the Skipper to Mr. Howell to the Professor and suddenly noticed the stick in the Professor's hand. His blue eyes got wide when he realized what was going to happen next.

"Uh, Professor, I just remembered, I need to help Mary Ann with something," Gilligan said.

"And just what would that be," the Skipper asked.

"Don't know. I guess she'll tell me when I find her," he answered nervously.

The Skipper suddenly launched at Gilligan. He nearly had his arms around the skinny man, but Gilligan was too quick for him.

He quickly ducked under the Skipper's arms and dodged the Professor and Mr. Howell. "Gee whiz Skipper, you nearly got me! That's the fastest I've ever seen you move before dinner!"

"Gilligan! Get back over here," the Skipper shouted, turning beet red.

"No way – I saw the Professor's 'medicine,'" Gilligan said, gesturing to the stick. "Why not use the Skipper? Or Mr. Howell?"

"Because you're the best choice," the Skipper said.

"You're young – you'll bounce back. I'm just a tad older than you, but I'm the Skipper – if anything happens to me, who'll protect the women? And the Professor could accidentally kill Mr. Howell with just one little knock on the head."

Mr. Howell scoffed the Skipper's explanation. "Really…"

"The Skipper is right," the Professor said. "You are the best candidate for this trial. And the stick is _not_ the medicine. Please help me."

The three men stayed quiet while Gilligan mulled it over. The Skipper's body tightened as he moved to spring forward again the moment he realized Gilligan wasn't going to comply nicely.

Gilligan however, saw it coming and ran in the opposite direction. The other three chased him around for awhile, stopping only after they were exhausted and out of breath.

"I give up," the Skipper said. He was panting heavily and his shirt was sweaty around the collar and armpit areas. "You can keep looking. I'm going back to the hut." He trudged off to camp.

The Professor, who was also sweating and out of breath, looked over at Mr. Howell.

"I'm in my final years. I shouldn't be chasing people around. I should be relaxing with Lovey and drinking fruity cocktails. That's just what I'm going to do." Mr. Howell walked back to camp after the Skipper.

The Professor was disappointed but he knew better than to give up.

'_Edison failed numerous times and never stopped. I'll get him to volunteer. I just have to keep at him.'_ He walked back to camp slowly, thinking of another way to get Gilligan to volunteer.

* * *

Mary Ann just finished making banana and mango tarts when she spotted the Professor walking up to camp.

"Professor! Oh thank you so much," she said. "I think this will be good now that I have the final ingredient… by the way, can you tell me what this fruit is?"

The Professor looked down at the round fruit that was green on the outside and off white on the inside. "This is an artocarpus altilus, otherwise known as breadfruit. It's very starchy, which is probably why your recipe turned out so well."

"It tastes like bread," Mary Ann replied back. "Do you want to taste one?"

"Not right this second," the Professor said. He just wanted to get back to his hut and figure out how to make Gilligan help him.

"Well ok, but here, take a few. They're good." Mary Ann handed him five small tarts and sent him on his way.

The Professor went back to his hut and sat on his cot. Maybe he could use someone else. But none of the other men would volunteer. He still didn't like the idea of using one of the women. He didn't want to hit them over the head with a stick. He felt stuck.

The Professor stopped thinking about it. _'Sometimes great ideas come to mind when a person isn't thinking about the problem.'_ He set it aside in his mind and looked down at the tarts Mary Ann gave him. Now that he thought about it, he _was_ hungry. The Professor popped one in his mouth and began to chew.

It was soft and springy from the breadfruit. He could taste the bananas and the mangoes in the tart. The Professor would not have put those two fruits together, but oddly enough, they complimented each other well. He savored the taste. There was a hint of something else though…

He chewed slower, hoping to identify it but it was too subtle. Four tarts later, he still couldn't figure out what it was he tasted. The Professor shrugged his shoulders and stood up. Those were great, but now he wanted real food. Mary Ann told him she was making fish with some vegetables she found.

He opened the door and began to walk towards the common area. He could already smell the fish cooking. He couldn't wait to eat. The Professor was thinking so hard about dinner that he ran right into Ginger without realizing it. She tumbled to the ground.

The Professor looked down at her. "I'm sorry Ginger!" He quickly helped her back up. "I should've looked where I was going but your beauty blinded me."

Ginger looked up at the Professor and drew back a little. "... Professor...?"

The Professor turned bright red. "I apologize... I'm sorry...," he said. "... that I didn't notice those dangerous curves on you earlier."

"Professor!" Ginger blushed and looked away from him.

"Ginger - I'm terribly sorry," he said, now profusely sweating. He let go of her hand. "Please excuse me."

The Professor ran back to his hut and slammed the door shut. _'What has gotten into me,'_ he thought frantically. He was pacing back and forth, trying to figure out what just happened when he heard something fall off his cot. He looked down.

**Flowers with Medicinal Properties, Vol. XXXVIII. Written by Dr. Maxwell Uppercrust, III.**

He picked the book up and flipped through it until he got back to the chapter on the somnium tropicus and re-read the whole thing quickly.

..._Useful in cooking..._

..._Sweet..._

..._Using the flower or its oils in excess can cause… delusions and hallucinations..._

The events of the morning suddenly slammed into him.

'_My God, I left the beaker on the table!'_ The Professor ran outside to the table where everyone was getting ready to eat.

"Mary Ann – have you seen a beaker that was on the table this morning?"

"I did Professor. That was the beaker you left out for me, wasn't it?"

The Professor slowly closed his eyes. It was all becoming very clear now. "Mary Ann… where did you put the beaker and its contents?"

"I used them for the tarts."

The Professor suddenly felt very ill. "Did anyone else ingest them?"

"Not yet," she answered. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Throw them out. Do not give them to anyone else. Do it now."

Mary Ann turned and threw the rest of the tarts onto the ground. The Professor walked up to them and smashed them underneath his shoes.

"Professor! What's wrong? Why are we throwing these away?"

He didn't answer her. The Professor knew all he needed to know. How could he have been so careless? Now he knew what he tasted in the tarts.

_He_ ingested his own extract. And apparently quite a bit of it. He thought back to the warning of delusions and hallucinations. Nobody knew for sure what the actual side effects of taking a lot of the somnium tropicus was.

The Professor looked up and saw Ginger saunter out of her hut. She was wearing a cream colored gown that made her look like a goddess to the Professor. He suddenly shook his head, trying to clear it. Since when had he _ever_ thought of Ginger Grant as a goddess? She had her back to him and didn't see him as he struggled to remain decent. The Professor looked away but couldn't stop himself as his eyes slowly rolled back to her form.

He took in his fill of her, starting from her legs and slowly raking his eyes upward, not missing a single detail, until they reached the slim column of her neck, which was exposed because her hair was in an elegant bun.

The Professor suddenly wondered what her titian hair would feel like. Was it soft? Silky? Smooth? He had to know. He began walking towards her and only stopped when he realized what he was doing and his intent. The Professor ran back into his hut and plunked a chair in front of his door. He clenched and unclenched his hands, willing himself not to think of her hair.

He swallowed thickly and tried not to think of Ginger at all. It was difficult. He now knew what one of the side effects of ingesting too much of the somnium tropicus was.


End file.
